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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23065276">Immortel</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/onicchi13/pseuds/onicchi13'>onicchi13</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>1917 (Movie 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AI (Artificial Intelligent), Heavy Angst, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I'm such a slut of angsty, M/M, More tags then I probably spill the whole plots, Sci-fi theme, angst blakefield hours</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:54:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,423</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23065276</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/onicchi13/pseuds/onicchi13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Live a life where science fiction is no longer a mere tale. </p><p>“What do you think that makes us human, Blake?”</p><p>“The souls?”</p><p>The chuckle was a bless. Blake admitted he loved that side of this man. “Our memories. When bodies die, so does with the memories. But, you can live forever as long as you have your memories intact. The fear of losing is humane but there’s always a bridge to connect them.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tom Blake &amp; William Schofield, Tom Blake/William Schofield</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Immortel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When the eyes opened, the colorful ray from crystals sneaked naughtily from small holes of window. He’s illuminated by the magic hours in the morning since he noticed a smell of fresh bake of bread and marmalade jam. It brought up something from little dots inside his memory box. Alas, he had no idea whose bed he’d been slept on or the room he’s in. All he knew there must be a wellbeing filled the empty space before him. The warmth still existed and the familiarity radiated through his calloused palm.</p><p>“Where am I?”</p><p>He frowned. Too little hard for his memory box to assist. Sadly, none of this view reminded him of something.</p><p>“You’re awake. Good morning.”</p><p>A voice of stranger put him back to discontent. He’s about to gnaw the thick walls that blocked his brain to remember. Yet, this whoever man only stood there, smiling half under his tired eyes, uncombed bed hair protruded against gravity, with an apron offering the same fresh bread he’d just smelled. Weirdly, his olfactory bulbs sent a comforting signal.</p><p>“Bread and jam? I try to put less salted butter this time in case your tongue still protests.” There’s full of cheeriness behind his words. Unless, the one on the bed still argued with his inner self, deciding whether leaving the bed would be good idea. The stranger overlooked through the dimness how alert the captive one. He chuckled. “Here we go again.”</p><p>He stepped forward, put the bread on the side table, not bothered the wild reaction of this wounded puppy. Only left a small gap in between. “My name is William Schofield but you prefer to call me Sco. It’s moderate and easy to pronounce, that’s your forever answer while everybody calls me Will instead. I’m 28 years old and I’m currently working as AI programmer. My last achievement is <em>homunculus. </em>It’s a chip that able to collect one million terabytes of synaptic information and allowing us to ‘live’ longer as mortals. Okay, perhaps that’s enough nerdy pep talks from me. And now it’s about you. You are—”</p><p>“Sco?”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>The one named Sco bent his knees down so he could be as level as the one on the bed. It hurt him seeing how frightened the young man seemed to be now. But his smile never faded.</p><p>“You’re Thomas Blake. Your friends call you Tom but I always love to use your surname. It’ll remind me of your mother. The only woman in your life you said you love dearly much. You just had car crash one month ago, you’ve recovered fast yet every wound shall leave sequele. The doctors believe it’s just temporary but your memory only lasts for twenty hours or so. At the first day you woke up, your memory stayed about six hours and gradually it’s getting better.”</p><p>Pair of confused gaze were mirrored through Sco’s lenses. He took Blake’s one hand and squeezed it softly. There’s a hesitation at first but the trust came like river flow.</p><p>“What are we?”</p><p>“I call us as marriage couple. But you always hate that term. So, I’m not in position to argue about what exactly we are. I’m fine with whatever term you’d like to give. Partnership might be the cue.”</p><p>Taking a short moment for Blake to swallow the whole information he’d just heard. He didn’t deny it triggered particular memories from the corner of his head. Although he’s very much in doubt. A weep of glance poked to Sco.</p><p>“Then how long we’ve been in that partnership you mention? What day is today? Or what year it is now? What season—”</p><p>“Hold up, Blake. I know it’s basic Q and A session every time you wake up, but today is our special day. I’ll explain after, aye? Ah, I forget to take the lighter. Wait here.” Sco hurriedly left to their kitchen and coming back with a small lighter in his hand. Also, a bread he baked earlier. He put two small candles in each side of the bread. “I’m not a baker myself as you always know since long time ago. I only know how to make this bread since it’s your favorite. Since it’s our anniversary day, we have to blow the candles together.”</p><p>“Is it today?” asked Blake. His eyes wandered from Sco to the bread. Then, he folded his legs and asking Sco to sit on with him at the bedside. A glimmer of sheer excitement painted on his face. “How long it’s been, Sco?”</p><p>“Erm, let me remember. I guess it’s been four or five years?”</p><p>“You guess?”</p><p>Sco chuckled. “Probably plus or minus couple months. You’re the one who remembers this trivial matter.”</p><p>“It’s not trivial. It’s vital. Then, if you insist that I’m a detailed person perhaps I have notes or records on these trivial matters before I forget it again the next day.”</p><p>“You do. It’s filed inside our cabinets. Neatly organized. I’ll take you there after we blow these candles. So, mind you?”</p><p>The hesitation was gone and replaced by conviction. Flicker of undying love blatantly reside on Sco’s watchful eyes. He memorized and only blinked twice. Like a machine programmed to observe and imitate. Seconds after he listened to Blake’s giggle after he realized the young one smearing the marmalade jam on his cheek.</p><p>Their laughs filled entire room as if the day was the same day as always.</p><p>The same days after William Schofield left the world.</p><p>***</p><p>“So, we’re living in the world where AI exist but still no flying cars?”</p><p>Sco grinned and pinched Blake’s chubby cheek as response of the young man’s absurd question. He found it immensely absurd since their flat window showing the usual view from his old memories had. Nothing’s changed although some breakthroughs were already made. The routines were orderly functioned; the streets, the barking dogs, the traffic lights, no flying cars neither holograms. Pretty much the same year when scientist finally found the vaccines for new strains of swine flu. Except, Blake noticed how scrutiny the work Sco’s dwelling. All about binary languages with black screen and some codes he less cared. He still studied on his own journals also adding some new moments below the oldest one.</p><p>Some of their togetherness in one packed photograph shared as special memento with small notes behind. Blake’s memories were drifted back to present times slowly. It amazed him in tears. Sometimes Sco would come at him and kiss his cheek before going back to his working seat. Sco didn’t blame the hurting partway such as this. It’s part of undeniable fate and they both must face it together. They would always.</p><p>“Quick <em>fyi</em>, these all photographs are taken from your cameras. You love to print them out and stick them on the wall.”</p><p>“Really?” Sco nodded. “So, what actually am I doing for living?”</p><p>“For one and half year you bet your luck as a freelance journalist. There’s one particular moment when we first met you nearly dropped off your camera down to the river. You told me it’s first camera you ever bought with your saving money after you graduated from school. Well, practically it’s my fault. I tried to jump off to the bridge when the company said they didn’t need a dim wit employee like me. It’s the hellish day I ever faced. Suddenly you ran at me, shouting at me with your gibberish Scots swear. You saved me and now we’ve become this.”</p><p>“Did… I do that?”</p><p>Sco took off his specs, straightened his back to reach Blake where he’s sitting quietly with journals on his lap. He encircled his arms around the young man’s torso. Resting his chin on Blake’s shoulder. “You never fail to amaze me, Thomas Blake. Not in any second. Every moment I spent with you is kept forever inside my cores. Living forever.”</p><p>Blake burst to laugh. Sco’s poetic words really tormented him. “You speak as if you’re a talking android.”</p><p>“What if I am?”</p><p>“Blimey, of course it’s impossible, Sco. Although yes, you’ve showed how some mad tech-companies out there really encourage scientist to create humanoid—what? Whatever. Stop jabbering nonsense, you fool oaf.” snickered Blake while rustling Sco’s brown wavy hair. His head still on static position and arms lingered clingy to Blake’s warm body.</p><p>“Keep doing that, it’s soothing.”</p><p>“Alright, you baby.”</p><p>“You baby.”</p><p>Blake consciously and intentionally pull loaf of Sco’s bread hair for mocking him <em>baby</em>. The older one responded with a chunky bite of Blake’s clothed shoulder blade. He immediately screamed in shock.</p><p>“Oy! I almost forget we bake our chicken in the oven!”</p><p>He let go from Sco’s muscly arm jail. Caressing his arms few times before the older one proceeded to move away. He followed Blake to their kitchen and noticed the ding sound came up at exact time. His eyes never leave Blake’s figure, watching him in serenade while posture leaned on the wall. The cold fingers of his touched the center of where his heart’s placed, feeling the regular heartbeat and calmed. Then, noticing Blake’s voice calling his name.</p><p>“Help me with the condiments, aye. Also, how would you like the chicken? I have no idea to slice them out. Blimey, this knife is huge.”</p><p>Blake’s tastebuds were the only glorifying entity he always proud of. But as described as his self character, every person did have their major paranoia. Knife was Thomas Blake’s fear. He could never know how to explain the reason but knife was something that constantly coming back to haunt in his every nightmare. Either stubbed or grazed. Sco watched the agony on Blake’s expression.</p><p>“Don’t laugh. I know you want to laugh.”</p><p>Rosy cheeks smeared thereafter. Sco had to confront his selfish ego to not bang Blake right away. His hardware stopped him in doing so.</p><p>“No. Give me the knife.” He lied, obviously.</p><p>Sco chopped the chicken leg first then cutting the meat tangled from its tendon with the knife.</p><p>“That’s not chicken, it’s turkey. Why is it so big?”</p><p>Sco grinned. “It’s chicken, Blake.”</p><p>“No, it’s not.”</p><p>“Yes, it is.”</p><p>Blake pouted like a child bantering with adults. Sco laughed straightforwardly and forgetting his hands were occupied. He unconsciously cut his finger.</p><p>“Bloody hell, Sco! Give me your hand. Wait there, it must be bleeding much! Fuck, I even don’t remember where we put all the kits inside this flat. But, wait there, okay?”</p><p>The anxious was clearly shown on Blake’s face. Less than a second, the young lad disappeared from Sco’s eyes. His basic instinct that lied inside his hidden memories must responsible to his jittering. Blood and knife had become Blake’s enemies as long as Sco could memorize. It’s funny even though he had short memories deficit, the fear kept the same. But, Sco had no memories over his own fear or perhaps he’s too afraid to tell the truth that his fear was also the same.</p><p>To lose Blake.</p><p>“For fuck sake, nothing is <em>innit</em>. Where<em> da </em>you keep it, William Schofield? How about the towel, aye?”</p><p>“The emergency kit is always inside the washroom, Blake.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, sure. Great, this’s how I look like when I got panic? Shameful.” Blake pull Sco’s teared hand and hurriedly dab where the wound was supposedly be. Alas, he frowned his eyebrows and found no sign of blood nor reddish pierced wound. No, nothing. He looked up to see Sco’s indefinite and inexplainable face. “I saw it, Sco. You—you cut your finger. You <em>bloody </em>cut your finger!”</p><p>No pain or discomfort tracked on Sco’s sully eyes. Blake tried to read and comprehend the fact how cold Sco’s fingers on his own palm. The shocking truth of all.</p><p>“It’s minor so don’t worry, Blake. Let’s continue what we’ve left, okay?”</p><p>“Sco—”</p><p>“Look. No blood, it’s just small cut. Sometimes it needn’t have to tear the vessels.” Otherwise, Blake’s eyes still on him. Studying his gesture.</p><p>“But I saw it, Sco. That big <em>damn </em>knife really pierced your skin.” Blake asserted his last words. Trusting his calculation and logic. But, all he got only a half eyes smile from Sco.</p><p>“I’m fine, really, <em>love.</em>”</p><p>The reassuring confession at least calmed Blake for a bit. Although it’s still hard to believe how the situation minutes ago happened. It almost made no sense figuratively or physically. Blake’s mind wandered to somewhere during their meal time. He watched and observed the man he had spent their life together for such long period of time. Studying his old daily bullet journals indeed was easy but nothing came easy when reading William Schofield. Or, the William Schofield at this present time.</p><p>‘<em>Who are really you, William Schofield?’</em></p><p>
  <em>‘Do I really… know you?’</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>He watched upon the orange sky went purple in silence. They both enjoyed the moment of their own and neither spoke too much. Blake scribbled down what his senses had caught the whole day. How today it’s their anniversary, the lovely face of Sco, the day still with no flying cars, the wound…</p><p>Moreover, he’d forget everything as the next sun arose.</p><p>Why bother.</p><p>“Sco.”</p><p>“Yes, Blake?”</p><p>Tears of shattered feelings elaborate with fictional hopes urged him to confess. It wouldn’t be too hurtful.</p><p>“Hold me.”</p><p>He kept the journal he’d written on. Put it inside the drawer beside their bedshared. Same ritual always started from a peck of kiss then flowing down like the water.</p><p>When the thick black night came, Blake recognized how Sco would lullaby him with comforting words and poems. The lullaby he knew he always listened to before the unconsciousness swept away his recent memories.</p><p>“What do you think that makes us human, Blake?”</p><p>“The souls?”</p><p>The chuckle was a bless. Blake admitted he loved that side of this man.</p><p>“Our memories. When bodies die, so does with the memories. But, you can live forever as long as you have your memories intact. The fear of losing is humane but there’s always a bridge to connect them.”</p><p>‘…<em>bridge</em>.’</p><p>“Bridge…” Blake repeated.</p><p>Blake’s sudden memory archives exploded. His weak fingers tried to grip on Sco’s loose collar.</p><p>“<em>Sco—</em>"</p><p>He weirdly started to feel oozed.</p><p>“<em>Sco—no—please.”</em></p><p>Sco whispered shushing song to Blake’s ear. Hugging him tightly.</p><p>“The death comes to us like an old friend. Sooner than we thought but—”</p><p>“—<em>in this body, I can beat the mortality.”</em></p><p>The last thing his doe eyes captured was Sco kissing him on the lips. But, the words stayed dead inside his memory box.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Blake.”</p><p>TBC</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Knife and blood are two things Blake really hate most, I believe.<br/>I don't speak English in regular basis and there're many grammatical errors inside this story. &gt;&lt;</p></blockquote></div></div>
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